


The Truths We Make

by allyndra, dancinbutterfly



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: FTM, M/M, Trans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-19
Updated: 2009-11-19
Packaged: 2017-10-03 09:34:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allyndra/pseuds/allyndra, https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancinbutterfly/pseuds/dancinbutterfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If it had been left up to him, Brian never would have told the band that he's trans. But it's not really up to him, anymore, and now they all have to deal with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Truths We Make

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thanks to giddy_london for the thorough beta and to kaizoku for advice.

The needle is a familiar prick in Brian's thigh. He breathes through it, pressing the plunger smoothly. It's routine, and he doesn't even have to think about it anymore. He withdraws the needle and blots at the injection site with a sterile cotton pad (and really, keeping a supply of sterile _anything_ on tour is a feat in and of itself). He's holding the syringe in one hand and zipping up with the other when the door - the door he thought he locked - bangs open.

"Hey, Brian! Ray says to tell you that- What the fuck? What do you think you're fucking doing?" Mikey is staring at him, eyes wide and appalled like he just caught Brian murdering kittens in the back lounge.

Brian shakes his head, trying to think past the litany of 'Fuck my life, fuck my life, fuck my life' that's running through his brain. "It's not what it looks like," he says.

Mikey snorts. "When someone says 'It's not what it looks like,' it's always exactly what it looks like."

"Will you just," Brian moves to run a hand through his hair and realizes he's still holding the fucking syringe in it. "Let me explain."

"Explain it to me then." Jesus, Brian always forgets that Mikey can yell. He doesn't do it often, but his voice can get so loud and ugly that he sounds like someone else entirely. "Explain why the fuck you thought it was okay to shoot up on the bus. On _our bus_, Brian."

"Goddamn it, Mikey, would you shut up for a minute?" But it's too late. The other guys are already crowding up behind Mikey, drawn by the raised voices. Ray peers over Mikey's shoulder and visibly flinches, then sets his shoulder wide, like he can keep anyone else from seeing in.

"Fucking-" Brian shoves the syringe into his bag. Getting rid of it seems like a good idea, but the motion just draws Mikey and Ray's eyes to the other contents of the bag, the clean needles lined up neatly.

"We thought you said you were clean," Ray says. He's not yelling like Mikey, and Brian almost wishes he were. It would be better than the cutting disappointment in his soft voice.

"Fuck you, Toro. I am clean," Brian replies. It shouldn't matter. It's a stupid misunderstanding, and it shouldn't matter at all, but it fucking hurts.

"Not what it looks like from here," Mikey bites out. His eyes are narrowed and his mouth is a sharp, angry line.

Brian can see two dark heads bobbing up behind Ray's shoulders, and he knows that Frank and Gerard are trying to see what's going on. Ray shoots a worried glance back at them and shakes his head, and Brian feels suddenly and ridiculously guilty.

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. "It's not drugs," he says, as patiently as he can. "Not that kind, anyway."

"You're not sick, Brian," Ray says, not giving an inch.

Brian can feel the corners of his mouth twitching as he tries to figure out what to say. Fuck this. He never planned how to have this conversation, because he had never intended to talk about this. At all.

Frank jumps up on Ray's back and shouts, "Stop blocking us, motherfucker. What the hell is going on?"

The syringe is put away and Frank can't see into Brian's bag from that angle, so really, Mikey doesn't have to tell him. Doesn't have to say out loud for the other guys to hear, "I caught Brian in here shooting up." Brian winces when he says it anyway.

Frank's eyes go so wide that in any other situation, it would be comical. Brian can hear Gerard, still stuck behind Ray, saying, "No, no, no." Like denial ever helped anything.

Brian shakes his head. "No, you fucking didn't," he insists. He's done his share of stupid shit, made a million and a half bad decisions, but this isn't one of them, and he's not going to just accept their assumptions.

Mikey's glare gets even more focused, and Brian could swear it was biting into him. "Christ, Brian, how stupid do you think we are? I saw you with the needle in your hand. It's still there. It's right fucking there." He jerks his chin toward Brian's bag, moving stiffly, like the very movement offends him.

"Would you just shut up and fucking listen to me?" Brian means for it to come out patient. Calm and in charge. Instead, he nearly yells it, and there's a wavering edge to his voice that makes him want to curl up and hide.

"Talk," Ray says. Brian notices jealously that _his_ voice is still even.

Brian rubs the back of his neck. Frank is still hanging precariously from Ray's shoulders, and Gerard is lurking (and denying) just behind them. Bob is somewhere out of sight, but Brian is dead certain he's within earshot. "Could you guys just come in here so we can talk about this?"

Ray takes a half step forward before Mikey stops him with a hand on his arm. "Gee isn't going in there with that." He gestures at Brian's bag again.

"What do you suggest, then?" Brian demands. "Because I'm not telling this more than once."

There's a brief huddle in the doorway as the guys discuss the options. Brian's used to seeing them clumped together like that, but he's not used to feeling excluded by it.

They wind up pulled over on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. There are wide fields all around them, but all Brian can see are the five faces - worried, angry, and expectant - aimed at him. Well, he assumes all five of them look that upset. He's having trouble looking at Gerard to see how he's reacting.

"Okay, so," he says. Fuck, he doesn't even know how to talk about this. It's a non-topic. "Okay, so I have several needles with me, and they're full of medication. But it's not like … it's not drugs the way you're thinking of."

Mikey cocks his head disbelievingly, but Brian thinks some of the other guys might believe him already. He risks a glance at Gerard and sees a flare of hope brighten his face. It makes such a contrast to the frightened resignation that was already there that Brian's stomach hurts. Gerard must have been really fucking sure Brian had slipped, and really fucking scared that this time, Brian wouldn't make it back on the wagon.

"Like I said, you're not sick," Ray points out, his soft voice still as hard as it had been on the bus.

Brian bites his lip, worrying at the ring there. "It's a treatment for a condition I have. It's genetic." He wants to laugh wildly, and he fucking resents the term 'hysteria' and all its connotations right now. "I was born with it, and I've been managing it since I was a teenager."

Bob frowned at him. "Why wouldn't you tell us something like that?" he asks. "I mean, we've known you for years, man."

"Some things are private," Brian says firmly.

There's a short moment of silence, and the Frank bursts out, "Fuck you, private! Since when does private stop us from knowing shit about each other?"

And okay, Frank has a point. Brian knows this band's sexual habits and childhood fears, disgusting bodily functions and beautiful moments of inspiration. 'Private' hasn't meant much more than 'Keep this between us' in a really long time.

But this is different. "This is different," Brian says. "I've been dealing with this, with my own shit about this, all my life. I don't need to deal with your reactions and your shit about it, too."

"Is there a cure?" Gerard asks quietly. His face is pale, but his eyes are intent on Brian. Brian looks away.

"There's no cure." Brian's lips twist in a bitter smile. He's being pointlessly avoidant now, and he knows it. There's no way he's getting out of telling them. But he just can't make himself say the words. "The injections treat some of the physical symptoms, and I've had surgery for some of the others."

"Surgery?" Bob sounds shocked, and if this weren't Brian's worst fucking nightmare, he'd be kind of proud of that. "What exactly do you have?"

"I, uh." He didn't notice himself raising his hand, but he must have, because his fingers are tracing the loops of script on the back of his neck, over and over. "I was born with two X chromosomes."

The whole fucking countryside seems to process that for a moment. Everything seems sort of frozen, so that when Frank laughs, Brian could swear he can feel the shards as the silence shatters.

The rest of the band stare at Frank, frowning as he laughs high and wild. "That's not a condition, Brian. That's being a chick."

Brian fixes his eyes on the ground. There's a weed with little yellow flowers on it near his foot, and he crushes it under his toe. "For women, it's just 'being a chick,'" he says finally. "For me, it's a condition."

"Wait," Mikey says. When Brian risks a glance up at him, Mikey is blinking rapidly, like his eye surgery has somehow reversed itself without warning. "Wait, are you saying you're really a girl?"

Brian feels nauseous. "No, that's the opposite of what I'm saying. I was never a girl, even when my parents and teachers told me I was." He wants to say more, now that he's started. He wants to tell them that he was never confused about his gender, just frustrated that no one else could see it clearly. He wants to tell them about the first time he introduced himself as 'Brian' without getting a second glance, and how fucking _freeing_ that had felt. Instead, he spreads his arms and says, "I'm still just me."

"Wow," Bob says. His arms are still crossed over his chest, just like they have been since they got off the bus, but now he looks less confrontational and more like he's hugging himself. "Seriously? That's … wow."

Frank is staring, almost goggling, and it makes Brian want to hide. Which is really possibly the most fucked up thing about this whole intervention scenario. "I'm not a freak," Brian snaps, and Frank flushes.

"Sorry, man," he mutters.

Brian lifts his chin defiantly. "Yeah. Man. Exactly."

Gerard wrinkles his nose apologetically. "It's a lot to take in. You have to give us a little time."

Brian clenches his jaw and concentrates on not yelling. "I don't want to give you time. I want things to not be different. Because I'm not any different than I was before."

"No offense," Ray says, "But it doesn't seem that way from here. I mean, I know you haven't changed, but it still changes things."

"Fuck that." Brian spins around so that he can kick the side of the bus. He's not wearing his Docs, and it hurts his foot. "Goddamn it!" He looks back at them, standing with his weight all on his uninjured foot. "I'm getting back on the bus. If you have a problem with me, deal with it. I'm still your manager."

He limps over to the door of the bus, but he stops before he gets on. He turns and faces them squarely, shoulders set and chin high. "If any of you fuckers ever calls me 'she' or 'her,' you can find somebody else to manage you."

He climbs onto the bus with as much dignity as he can muster, trying not to worry about what they might be saying amongst themselves, behind his back.

***

To their credit, all five of the guys make an actual effort not to be weird around Brian. Unfortunately, the fact that it's an effort pretty much guarantees that it's weird anyway.

About a half hour down the road after Brian's big revelation, Ray trips Frank, and Frank calls him a pussy. Everyone freezes and tries not to look at Brian, and Brian's heart fucking sinks. This isn't what he signed up for.

He grabs his phone and a notebook full of tour dates and details. "I've got work to do," he says shortly. He stomps to the back lounge, and they let him go.

He works with a determined intensity, the way he hasn't had to since his first few weeks back at work after rehab. He moves from task to task, never letting himself stop long enough to think. It's probably not the best way to deal with his problems, but it's an awesome way to whittle down his to-do list.

He should be expecting it, but he's so focused on work that he's caught off-guard when there's a knock at the door. "Yeah," he calls. It's not exactly a welcome, but he's not feeling very welcoming right now.

Frank peeks in the door at him, and grimaces at whatever he sees on Brian's face. "Hey, um. I know you don't think we need to know this stuff, and that we should just, like, get over it. But. That's not going to happen."

"So, what?" Brian asks, and he does not, does not, does not let the fear curling in his stomach show on his face.

"So, I was thinking maybe we could talk about it." Frank bites his lip and looks expectant.

"You want to talk about it?" It was a fact of Brian's life. What is there to talk about?

"Not just me. All of us. It can be like Truth or Dare, if you want, just with lots of Truth." He twists his mouth into a wry smile and says, "Even if you don't like it, you have to know we're curious. Wouldn't it be better to get it all out there at once?"

"Get it over with, huh?" Brian asks doubtfully.

Frank nods. "Like taking one huge, painful shit instead of having diarrhea for three days."

"Christ, you make it sound so appealing." Brian closes his eyes for a second, and when he opens them, Frank is still standing there, waiting. "Fine." Brian closes his notebook and puts away his phone. "Fine. Fuck, whatever."

"He said yes," Frank yells over his shoulder. And they must have all been lurking around on their bunks, waiting for that signal, because they come trouping in like a parade, settling around the lounge and pretending not to be watching Brain out of the corners of their eyes.

Brian feels a surge of panic welling up so deep inside him it seems to be coming from his toes. He wants a drink like he wants air. He clenches his hands into fists in his lap and tries to look normal. "What do you want to know?"

For a minute, he doesn't think anyone is actually going to ask anything. He would really, really be okay with that. Then Bob stops sneaking glances at him and looks him straight in the eye instead. "If Mikey hadn't walked in on you, were you ever going to tell us?"

"No," Brian says with absolutely no hesitation. There was never an answer but that one. "Next?"

"Why?" Gerard asks. His eyes are wide and hurt. Brian imagines that he must have looked the same way when he found out that Batman wasn't real. "I mean, you know us. We're not about judging. Why would you hide something that's so important from us?"

"Jesus. I'm not hiding. It's not hiding. This," Brian waves a hand at himself, "This isn't fucking hiding. This is me. This has been me since before any of you fucking met me so there's nothing to tell. None of you felt the need to inform me on our first meeting that you were a man did you?"

"That's not the same," Mikey mutters. When Brian looks over at him, he repeats it more loudly. "That's not the same. This is … you're a man now, but you made a conscious decision to be one. That's a whole different thing."

Brian takes a deep breath because he doesn't actually want to hit Mikey. Not really, not deep down in the place that's still normal and actually loves all of these guys. He only wants to hit Mikey in the flash-burn impulsive anger center of his lizard brain.

"No, I didn't," Brian says, and Mikey looks disbelieving. Okay. The deep breath only got him so far. "No, fuck you, Mikeyway.I didn't fucking decide consciously anything. Believe me when I tell you there's no conscious decision involved in that beyond do what you have to or kill yourself and see if you can't come back right the next time."

Gerard's eyes go big, like dinner plates or a Looney Toons character. But Brian doesn't budge because that desperate sad little boy stuck in a dress wasn't him anymore. He was mostly whole now, damn it, and he wasn't going to apologize.

"I'm male. I've always been male just like you've always been male. Only you got fucking lucky were born right and I got stuck in the wrong body. That I've been trying to fix that egregious fucking error my whole life is none of your goddamn business."

It takes a moment before anyone says anything, and Brian can't help hoping that's it. That they're satisfied and this little show and tell can be over. Ray ruins that hope by half raising his hand, like a kid nervous of being called on in class. "What, uh. What have you been doing to try to fix it? You said medicine and surgery."

"You seriously want a rundown of my meds? Are you fucking kidding me?" Brian pinches the bridge of his nose. "The needle's got T in it." They blink at him and he sighs. "Testosterone and few other hormones. You know what that is, right kids? I don't need to fucking explain how male puberty works to you, do I?"

"Okay, but." Frank frowns at him. Not like he's upset, but like Brian is a puzzle he can't figure out. "But that doesn't make your tits shrink, right? Because unless you've been on those meds since, you know, _female_ puberty …" He cups his hands in front of his chest helpfully, like they wouldn't know what he was talking about otherwise. "So what happened to them?"

Brian rubs the back of his neck. "No. It doesn't get rid of them."

"Oh," Ray says. And of course Ray would figure it out first. "Oh fuck, Brian."

"It's called top surgery," Brian says with a sigh. "It's basically... It's-" A voluntary double mastectomy sounds horrible when you say it out loud, Brian thinks, because the surgery was invented for women with cancer, and there were real women out there who would've given anything to have what he got rid of. "It fixed that."

Bob looks a little pale at the idea of a voluntary surgery like that, but his avoidance of hospitals is the stuff of legends. Frank looks blatantly fascinated, though. Gerard … Brian's been avoiding looking at him too much, but when he risks a glance, Gerard is wearing his 'absolutely supportive' face. Brian kind of wishes he didn't have enough experience with that face to recognize it.

"When did you have that done?" Gerard asks. "I know they don't usually let girls get implants until they're done growing." Of course Gerard knows that. Gerard is the fucking king of reality shows. He loves shows about plastic surgery only slightly less than shows about celebrities looking for love. "Did they make you wait, you know, for the reverse?"

"Yeah. It was more of a money issue, though." Every paycheck from his first job babysitting when he was maybe eleven, every poker game or bet he ever won, every spare dollar he found in the sofa cushions or the floor of a car that didn't go to basic cost of living, Brian set aside for that fucking surgery. Saving from a young age for the day when he could one day fix himself had taught Brian a lot about money and math and the way banks work. More than any class he ever took, that's for damn sure.

And if he counted from that first babysitting gig, it took about twelve years to get the funds saved, another few years to find a doctor who would take him on and to convince his brother. "March 17, 2001." He turns towards Bob a little, but doesn't look up. "Back when I was with the Used. I took a month off touring." And when he'd come back, he'd been able to wear wifebeaters and take his shirt off and just be himself.

They're all staring at his chest. "Jesus Christ, guys. I'm not going to start telling you that my fucking eyes are up here."

Bob jerks his eyes away from Brian's chest, and it isn't much better to have him staring him in the face. He looks almost betrayed. "I knew you then," he says. "I knew you before you had that surgery."

"And you knew me after," Brian says dismissively. "It doesn't make a difference. I'm the same guy. Just without an extra couple pounds of useless flesh."

"Do you not like women?" Mikey asks. His legs are crossed awkwardly, close at the knees, and Brian can't remember if that's how Mikey always sits, or if it's a reaction to this conversation. "You sound really … negative about female stuff." His voice is disapproving. Gerard frowns at that suggestion, and Brian doesn't know if he's angry at Mikey for asking it or at Brian for possibly, imaginarily hating women.

"I love women. Women are great. Women are beautiful, amazing, fascinating people that I've fucked my share of. I'm just not one."

Ray makes that abortive hand raising gesture again, and Brian rolls his eyes. "You fuck women? Does that mean that you've got-" He cuts himself off and turns a shade of red Brian has never seen on him before. "I mean, you only mentioned one surgery, but if you're fucking people ... How does that work?"

"You did not just ask me that, Ray, did you? I mean, I'd expect that shit from Frank-"

"Hey!" At Brian's glare, Frank ducks his head and shrugs, protest dying on his lips. He knows he doesn't have a leg to stand on after the time he'd asked Alicia if Mikey was only into costumes for the pets.

"But I expect better from you, man," Brian finishes.

"Sorry," Ray mutters. "But really, I mean..."

"Go rent _The L Word_ or buy yourself some porn. Buck Angel's good." He's one of Brian's favorites, actually. "Fucking seriously though, Ray. Come on."

Ray subsides in a mass of blushing and hair, and Brian rubs his hands over his face. "Can we be done?" he asks tiredly.

"Just," Gerard says, looking apologetic and nervous. "I wanted to know." His eyelids flutter shut and then back open, and then he's staring Brian full in the face, so fucking earnest. Like Brian is one of those people whose lives Gerard is going to save or transform or what the fuck ever. "What about relationships? Like, dating?"

No. Okay, no. Brian's not going to go there, not with Gerard. Not in front of everyone. A flash of almost-but-not-quite moments, moments when Brian's pulled his hand away from Gerard's when maybe he didn't have to or disentangled himself from a patented Gerard Way Hug sooner than he strictly wanted to spins through his brain before he answers.

"Every time I've been in a relationship, you guys have known about it." Which is to say that it's been rare to never. It's not that people aren't okay with it. It's just not usually worth the hassle. He can and does get sex when he wants it, but since he was about eighteen he hasn't really stayed in one place long enough to date seriously anyway. Besides, it's never really a priority.

"I've spent most of my time on my relationship with myself," Brian says, blushing for the first time in this whole conversation. It's just such a fucking pussy thing to say, but it's true.

There's an odd look on Gerard's face, a mixture of disappointment and admiration, and Brian's not going to drive himself crazy trying to analyze it.

"So that's it, right? Are we good?" Brian brushes his palms together and tries to look brusque. Like he's totally over this and not worrying about what the fuck he's going to do if they aren't actually good.

They all look at each other, doing the silent conversation thing that freaks out people who don't know them well. They don't do it often, since it requires, you know, _silence_ and they're a loud bunch of motherfuckers. Brian tries not to fidget as they raise eyebrows and shrug shoulders and send ESP rays at each others' heads.

Finally, Ray says, "We're good. It's fucking weird, man. No offense. But we're good." Everyone else nods.

"Fantastic. Then get the fuck out of here so I can work." They all shuffle out the door. Frank gives him a little smile over his shoulder as he leaves, and Brian can't help the feeling of warmth that spreads through his chest. Sometimes the little asshole is a pretty decent guy.

Brian watches them go and waits for the door to shut before he lets his shoulders slump. He props his elbows on his knees and covers his face with his hands. Just for a minute. He'll start work again in just a minute.

He's not quite quick enough to pull out the posture when the door opens again, and when he looks up, Gerard is watching him with a worried crease between his brows. "I just wanted to say, it doesn't matter. I'm glad to know, but it doesn't change anything." He stresses the word 'anything'. When Brian doesn't respond, Gerard huffs out a little sigh. "That was all."

And then he's gone, and Brian is alone. It takes several miles before he manages to make himself open his notebook and start making calls.

***

The next few days are fucking awkward. This right here? This is why Brian doesn't visit his family. Seeing people who know him second guessing themselves around him, people he's certain care about him act like he's a cross between a stranger and a mythical creature … That's never going to be his idea of a good time.

Brian tries to withdraw into his work, but the guys won't let him. He doesn't know why they're so determined to enjoy the uncomfortable silences together, but they are. Maybe they're secretly masochists.

They all deal with it in different ways. Ray practically inhales a glossary of terms about transgender people. Brian thinks he might be secretly auditing an online queer studies class. Brian tries not to let it show, but it's actually pretty touching. No one has ever put so much concerted effort into understanding where he's coming from before.

Less touching are the pamphlets from PFLAG that start littering the bus.

"What the fuck?" Brian asks, shoving them out of the way as he pours his coffee. It's not like they have table space to spare. He glowers and plants his mug right on top of a cheerfully interlocking heart and triangle.

"It's a support group, Brian," Ray says. "So, support."

"I'm the one who's getting supported here, dumbass."

"Actually," Mikey chips in, "it's a support group for families and friends of LGBT people. So Gee gets supported, too. 'Cause he's 'G.'" He smirks at his own inadvertent wit.

"Oooh, can I be 'B?'" Frank asks. "I think I can pull it off. I've made out with Gerard on stage often enough.

"Then we'd just need to hang out with a lesbian, and we'd have a whole set," Mikey says thoughtfully. Almost as if he's actually taking it seriously. Brian clutches his coffee mug tighter, because if Mikey really is taking that seriously, Brian's going to need the caffeine for energy while he kicks his ass.

"Shut the fuck up," Gerard says, leaning across Brian to get coffee of his own. "We're not having sexual orientation quotas to hang out with us."

"Sexual orientation or gender identity," Ray corrects.

"Yeah, neither." Gerard narrows his eyes at Ray. "How come you're just joining PFLAG now? It's not like you don't know any gay people."

"Yeah, why didn't you join in the rush of skanky gay love when Gee got with Bert?" Frank demands. "Did you not support him then?"He's got his hands on his hips, like he's defending Gerard's honor.

Ray's mouth opens and closes a few times before he says, "I'm supportive, fucker." He turns to Gerard and raises a hand in appeal. "You know I supported you, right?"

Gerard gives him a solemn look for a moment, but he can't hold it for long. "You didn't join any clubs for us, but you helped us buy food and beer. That was way more valuable at the time." He pointedly doesn't mention the fact that buying them beer was more in the way of enabling than helping.

Ray nods vehemently. "I got you guys lube one time. That's above and beyond."

Brian takes a long drink of his coffee, trying to slurp it loud enough to block out the conversation. Fuck, he remembers walking in on Gerard and Bert using that lube more than once, and he really doesn't need those images in his head. Not when he can still hear Gerard's voice asking him about relationships.

Frank nods, graciously conceding Ray's point. "That's pretty fucking supportive, man."

"I know," Ray says. "Anyway, the group isn't for Gerard or Brian or some imaginary lesbian. It's for me. So I have people to talk to. Because off this bus, it's not like I can tell anyone."

"Damn straight you can't." Brian finishes his coffee and stands up. "We should pull in about three. Everybody better be ready to roll off this bus when we get there."

As he walks past the bunks, he tries not to notice that Bob's still in his with the curtain closed.

If Ray's taking the support-group-and-ivory-tower route to understanding Brian, then Frank is trawling through the gutter. He disappears from the venue when they pull in for the show. He reappears an hour before sound-check with a black plastic bag in hand and a shit-eating grin on his face.

Brian doesn't ask. He doesn't want to know, not even a little bit. But they've got a ten hour drive the next day and about two hours in, Frank's crack at the lounge TV rolls around. Brian doesn't want to know, so he takes his work back to the studio, but an hour later when he wanders out, he finds the entire band clustered in the lounge, staring with wide eyes at the TV.

Then Brian hears the moaning coming from the sound system. It's male moaning, low and guttural and prickling down the back of his spine. He wants to believe it's another one of Cortez's videos, that at the last stop Matt slipped Frankie something, but he knows it's not when he skids into the lounge and all of the attention shifts from the fucking on screen to him.

"Dude," Frank says, grinning with an edge of mischief that has led better men than Brian to attempt murder. "Seriously, great rec on the Buck Angel thing. Jesus."

"I ..." Brian's eyes are drawn back to the screen where Buck's making out with a gorgeous Asian woman with streaked hair while getting fucked by a cisgender man with more tattoos than Frank. It's a classic; he's got it on his hard drive and he can feel his whole body get hot just looking at it, so he doesn't look. "Do you guys have to watch this out here?"

"It's educational," Frank says. "And I'm oddly aroused."

"Fuck you, Frankie."

"Hey, I'm open to it."

"You should talk to Jamia first," Mikey says. "It always goes better if you talk to them about it before you ask to bring a third into things."

Gerard manages to pull free of the thrall the screen has on him long enough to stare at his brother. "What?"

"Nothing, Gee."

"You and Alicia've had threesomes?" Gerard asks, in the same tone of voice that a child asks if his classmate told the truth when they said there was no such thing as Santa. Mikey opens his mouth, to say what Brian does not want to know.

"Holy crap, how did he do that?" Ray chokes, his eyes seeming to bulge out of his head. Just like that Gerard's focus is gone, back on the screen saving the whole bus from yet another painful overshare.

"Nice, Mikey. You're made of class," Frank hisses.

Mikey kicks at him a little in retaliation but there's no real effort behind it, so Brian lets his eyes drift around the room at the rest of his band. Bob's in a far corner, frowning down at the tops of his shoes, Ray's watching the video with a scrunched facial expression like Mikey always gets when he watches nature documentaries and Gerard is just …

Transfixed the word that comes to mind. The back of Gerard's hand brushes his mouth as he watches. As Brian watches, Gerard leans a little closer to the screen, drags his hand away, and Jesus Christ, licks his lips. The porn is easier to watch than Gerard's face.

"How much longer does this have?" Brian asks, knowing full well there's about seventeen minutes left. But the silence filled by moaning and panting and Buck's demands that the guy behind him fuck him harder is killing Brian.

"We've got two more after this DVD," Frank says, effectively killing any hope Brian had of having any fucking peace, oh, ever. "I'm thinking of investing in the whole collection."

Brian manages to resist the urge to slam his head against the wall of the bus. At least until he can get out of the front of the bus and away from the hypnotic quality of Gerard's glazed expression and into the safety of the studio.

Bob makes his escape from the bus not long after Brian does, and he looks startled to see Brian standing there, staring at the tires and trying to get himself under control. Bob curls his hands into the sleeves of his hoodie and hunches his shoulders.

"Hey," he says in rough greeting. It's nothing like the way he used to say it, when it was an invitation to conversation. Now it's a dismissal. Like 'How's it going?' to your bank teller. He brushes past Brian, and Brian almost lets him.

But you know, fuck it. Brian didn't get here by being a coward.

He grabs Bob by the arm and pulls him to a stop. "Wait." Bob tenses, and Brian forces himself not to jerk away. "We need to talk, man."

Something bitter flickers across Bob's expression, and he says, "Sure, now you want to talk about it."

"Yeah, now I want to talk about it, because now's when you're acting like a dick." Brian lets go of his arm but stands in his path. Bob is bigger than him, and if he wanted to, he could shove Brian aside. Brian tries not to feel too grateful about the fact that Bob doesn't want to.

"So talk," Bob says belligerently.

Brian rolls his head on his neck, trying to lose some of the tension that's crawling up from his shoulders. "That's not how conversation works, Bryar."

"Just tell me what you want from me," Bob tells him. He looks tired, which is shit, because he's spent nearly all of his time lately in his bunk.

"I've told you what I want. I want things to be normal. I want us to be good. Why don't you tell me what you want?" Brian shoves his hands into his pockets and waits.

"I want …" Bob shakes his head and stares into the middle distance. It looks like he's studying the venue wall. "I want to feel like I know you. I want you to have trusted me years ago and not been forced into it." He glances at Brian's face and then away. "I want things to be normal again, too. I just feel like maybe I never knew what normal was."

A muscle works in Brian's jaw, and his hands curl into fists in his pockets. "I do trust you." Bob snorts, and anger flares bright in Brian's chest. "Fuck you, it's true. This isn't some costume I put on, some lie that I tell. This is me." He pulls out one fist to thump at his own chest. "What you see is what you get, man. It took me a long time to like myself, to be a person that I could be honest about. But I got there, and that's the man who hired you and hung out with you and dragged you around the world. You know me."

Bob's eyes are still cloudy and hurt. "How do I know that? This is a huge fucking secret here, Brian. How'm I supposed to know who you are?"

"So what you're saying is," Brian says slowly, "that you don't trust me. Not the other way around."

"No. Fuck, maybe." Bob shrugs helplessly. "Okay, say this is who you are. The fact that you used to be a girl is a major part of that. You can't tell me it doesn't have an impact."

"Of course it has an impact. You can't erase your past, no matter how much you want to. But fuck, Bob. I don't know who beat you up in middle school. I don't know which members of your family you loved when you were a kid and which ones made you miserable. Those things shaped you, too. They're not secrets; they're just not relevant to us, here and now."

"Sharon Reynolds beat me up in middle school," Bob tells him. It startles a laugh out of Brian, and the corners of Bob's mouth twitch, too. "She was a bitch." The humor fades quickly, but it's something. It's fucking _something_ and Brian's not going to let it slip away.

He catches Bob's gaze and holds it. "When I met you, I hadn't been Brian very long. I had to leave my family and my friends because they couldn't accept that I wasn't the girl they wanted me to be, and it was scary as hell. I didn't get close to a lot of people, because it wasn't worth the risk of something like this. I've never regretted taking the chance on getting to know you, though. And I want you to fucking believe me when I say that you did get to know me."

Bob's eyes are bright, bright shiny blue. "This isn't easy, Brian," he says plaintively.

Brian snorts out a laugh. "Easy doesn't apply to my life very often," he says. "You're just getting the runoff."

Bob ducks his head. When he looks up, his jaw is set, like he's preparing himself for something. "So we're back to where we started. What do you want from me?" It's not the same question he asked before. Not at all.

"I want you to be my friend. I mean, you could go on being an avoidant little bitch," Brian says, raising his eyebrows, "But I'd rather you didn't. And that means you've got to try. If it's not easy, make a fucking effort."

Bob nods slowly, like he's thinking about it. "I guess maybe you're worth a little effort."

Brian doesn't even try to stop the grin that spreads across his face. "You're gonna make me blush, Bryar."

"Oh, fuck you. If Frank's show in there didn't make you blush, nothing ever will." Bob glances back over his shoulder at the bus and shudders dramatically.

"Did that gross you out?" Brian asks. He tries not to take it personally, but they've barely gotten to the point of talking again. He's not sure he needs to know that.

"Watching porn with both Way brothers always grosses me the hell out," Bob says. "That's just wrong, dude."

Brian wrinkles his nose. "You think they're still watching it?"

"Bet you five bucks they are."

"How about I don't take that bet, and instead I buy you a Red Bull. You still come out ahead," Brian offers. He's proud that his voice doesn't sound tentative.

Bob gives him a small smile. It's quiet and still a little off, but it's a start. "Yeah, okay. You can make up for my mental scarring."

As they start to walk across the parking lot, Bob bumps his shoulder against Brian's, and when Brian shoves back, Bob's grin is much more natural. Maybe it's more than a start.

***  
Brian kind of thought that once the guys got used to knowing about him, they could all just forget about it. Let it slide to the backs of their minds and resume their normal lives (for values of normal that include screaming fans and a shared, mobile bathroom). That's not how it happens.

It's not like they treat him like a chick, thank fucking God. He'd leave the tour before he put up with that. But they _know_, and the awareness never fades away. It's there in Frank's random and horrifically inappropriate questions and in Ray's carefully researched support. It's there in Bob's attempts to put their friendship back on an even keel and in Mikey's casual apology for outing him.

And it's in Gerard all the fucking time.

Brian catches Gerard watching him. Not like he's looking for traces of the woman Brian could have been, but like he's appreciating the man that he is. The thing that really blows Brian's mind is that it's not a new look. It's a lot more open than he's ever seen it before, but Brian realizes he's caught Gerard looking at him that way before.

It makes his hands sweat and the skin on his scalp prickle.

Like right now, they're stowing their gear in their bunks after a hotel night, and Brian can feel Gerard's eyes on him. Brian glances over his shoulder to check, and yeah. Gerard doesn't even try to play it off. He just smiles, his eyes steady and warm and his cheeks a little pink.

"Something wrong, Gee?" Brian asks. Because fuck if he's going to pretend like he hasn't noticed.

"Nope. I'm good." Gerard licks his lips, and Brian does pretend not to notice that. "You need any help?"

Brian hoists his single duffel onto his bunk. "I think I've got it," he says drily.

Gerard keeps on looking at him, and Brian can feel a flush creeping up the back of his neck. Before it gets painfully awkward, Gerard says, "You wanna watch a movie? It's Ray's turn to pick, but he owes me for using my t-shirt to scrub the floor."

Brian thinks about tucking himself away in his bunk and taking a nap, or getting out his phone and working on his never-ending list of things he needs to get done. But Gerard still has that look in his eyes, like Brian's something amazing, and fuck. Brian's weak in ways he never knew, because he can't say no to that.

"What were you thinking of watching?" he asks, and Gerard's smile bursts into a full-fledged grin.

"I was thinking that it's been a while since we watched _Blazing Saddles_."

"Okay," Brian says. "But only if we hide all the beans on the bus from Frank."

Gerard laughs. "Sounds like a plan." He gestures for Brian to lead the way. As Brian passes him, Gerard touches his curled fingers to the small of Brian's back. Not like he's guiding him or shoving him, but just like that was a convenient place that his hand wanted to be.

He's never been so aware of a touch through two layers of fabric in his life.

Brian steels himself a little for the loss of that touch, because it's stupidly nice. It's just one spot of warm connection, but it sends tingles up Brian's spine, and he doesn't want it to stop. That very thought should be a warning, because he knows better than to think that _wanting_ something means it's good for him. Gerard doesn't move his hand, though, and Brian doesn't heed the caution in the back of his brain.

Ray is flipping through DVDs when they get to the TV, but he concedes the choice to Gerard with little more than a disgruntled sigh. Whatever he'd wiped up with that shirt must have been disgusting.

Ray and Gerard have a silent conversation with their eyebrows and a few lifts of their chins. (Ray's hair gets in on it, too, but Gerard's hair stays mute.) The upshot of their discussion is that Ray waves a hand and says that he's going to go work on chord progressions anyway. He leaves them to settle in front of the TV alone.

Brian's used to the guys sprawling against him and across him when they run out of room, but this time they're not fighting anyone for space, and Gerard is still tucked right up against him. He sneaks a look at Gerard out of the corner of his eye, but Gerard looks totally enthralled in the perils of Rock Ridge. His eyes are wide, like he hasn't seen this so many times that he can quote all of Gene Wilder's dialogue word for word.

Brian doesn't mean to stare, but sometimes it's damned hard to look away.

Gerard catches him at it. He turns to Brian with a grin at the "Camptown Ladies" part, ready to sing along, and finds Brian just fucking _gazing_ at him. It's embarrassing, is what it is. Usually, unless he's being an ass on purpose, Gerard is wildly sympathetic about embarrassment. He'll turn red on other people's behalf, stuttering out apologies for things that aren't his fault. This time, though, he doesn't even look sorry for the way Brian flushes and bites his lip. He just inches a bit closer and says, "Watch the movie, Brian."

Brian turns his face toward the screen, but he can't claim to actually pay much attention.

He can feel Gerard against his side from hip to shoulder. Those aren't particularly erogenous zones, but Brian feels lit up from the contact. He's usually better at controlling his reactions than this, but things have been so close to the surface since the guys found out about him. He swallows down the urge to go hide in his bunk.

It's worrying that it's so easy to make himself stay.

When the movie is over, Brian uses it as an excuse to lean away from Gerard to grab the remote. He fumbles with it, feeling clumsy. Gerard doesn't cooperate, scooting closer and propping his chin on Brian's shoulder.

"You wanna watch something else?" Gerard asks, his breath a warm puff against Brian's ear.

"You know, I think I'm just going to go get some rest," Brian tells him.

"Okay. If you change your mind, you know where to find me." Gerard smiles, warm and easy, and Brian should feel relieved that he's getting away with no awkwardness. It's more like disappointment.

"I'll see you later," Gerard says, and he presses a kiss against Brian's jaw and stands up. He gives a little wave that Brian doesn't quite manage to return and leaves the lounge. Brian blinks after him.

What the fuck?

Okay, Gerard is an affectionate guy. He's not as handsy as he was back when he used, but he's still big with the hugs. And fuck, half the teenage girls in any given Hot Topic have pictures of Gerard molesting Frank onstage saved to their hard drives. But Brian doesn't think Gerard has ever kissed him before.

Scratch that. Brian's been paying attention, and he knows really fucking well that Gerard hasn't kissed him before.

He pulls himself together and heads to his bunk. He climbs in, kicking his duffle out of the way, and flops on his back. He pulls the curtain shut with a sigh, staring up at the ceiling. He tells himself that he needs to figure out what he wants, but part of his program is being honest with himself. And if he's honest, he's wanted Gerard for a long time. What he needs to figure out is what Gerard wants.

The thing is, he hasn't had much luck with men. The few times that he's tried to have something - sexually or romantically - with a guy, the fact that Brian doesn't have a dick has made way too much of a difference. Even if they can see him as a man outside of bed, inside … well, it's a different story. He doesn't always object to getting fucked in his front hole, but he hates the way guys see that as the only option, once they know how his plumbing is set up.

He can't stand being seen as a woman at the best of times, but when he's vulnerable like that? It's a fucking mess, and he's just learned to avoid it.

With Gerard, though ... he knows Brian a thousand times better than any of Brian's past hook ups have. Brian's pretty sure that Gerard could look at him buck naked and just see Brian. Not some butch chick, not an anomaly. The idea of Gerard's eyes (and hands, and mouth) on his body makes Brian shiver, and he lets himself close his eyes for a moment and just go with it.

He can imagine pale hands with rough bitten nails tracing over his tattoos. A pink, crooked mouth gasping open against his skin. Gerard's voice in his ears, low and needy, saying "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me."

Brian's eyes snap open, illusion broken. That's the real problem. To put it bluntly, Gerard likes cock. Every time Brian walked in on him and Bert making the most of the lube they made Ray buy them, Gerard had been the one getting fucked. On his back, on his knees, leaning up against a wall. Keening and grunting and generally just enjoying the hell out of it.

Gerard likes dick, and the cold, hard fact is, Brian doesn't have one.

Brian rolls onto his side, back facing the curtain. It doesn't matter, anyway. Gerard's an affectionate guy, and he's been trying to be extra available to Brian lately. That's all. Brian's fevered daydreams and might-have-beens don't mean a thing.

But as he tries to fall asleep to the grumble of the bus tires, Brian has never wished more that he'd been born in the right body.

Brian assumes that Gerard will get over this new touchy-feely phase of their relationship on his own, but over the next few days, he starts to wonder if it's here to stay. Gerard has developed a habit of positioning himself right behind Brian any time they're standing around waiting for something - their turn at sound check, a cab, Frank to get the fuck out of the bathroom already, whatever - and resting his hand right at the base of Brian's neck, down where it meets his shoulder. It's not threatening, and it's not erotic. Fuck if Brian knows what it is, but he's starting to expect the gentle weight of Gerard's hand, his thumb coming up to press against Brian's neck.

Brian tries not to read anything into it, but it's starting to feel like there's something to be read.

He catches Gerard watching him more often than he used to, too. Actually, he catches all of the guys watching him more often than they used to, but the rest of them blush or grimace apologetically when they see that Brian's noticed them doing it. Gerard just smiles at him, all his teeth showing, like he's delighted to get caught.

He would start to feel a certain kinship with Little Red Riding Hood, except that Gerard's teeth are so tiny. His eyes, though. His eyes could maybe eat Brian up all by themselves.

Brian's used to having a low-level awareness of Gerard all the time, but now … Now that he's dealing with this fucking _onslaught_ of touching and looking and smiling, he can't stop thinking about him. He's got Gerard in his head 24/7, and that's just frustrating. Besides being distracting as hell, it's making him hornier than he's been since he first started on the T-shots. He doesn't know what to do about it, though. It's not like he wants to tell Gerard to stop.

Then one morning, Gerard hands Brian a cup of coffee before he's taken one for himself. Brian blinks at him for a good two minutes, until Gerard nudges his arm and says, "Drink that, man. You look like a fucking zombie."

That's when Brian decides he really needs to figure out what's going on. A few extra pats and hugs are one thing, but coffee is serious. He waits until the next venue. Frank, Gerard, and Bob have all gone out to smoke, and Ray is off somewhere on his own. Brian drops onto the battered couch next to Mikey and pulls the Sidekick out of his hand.

"I was using that," Mikey huffs, reaching for it. Brian holds it out of reach and whatever Mikey was doing obviously wasn't drastic enough to warrant actually getting up, so he lets it drop.

"I need to talk to you."

Mikey visibly deflates, like someone popped a hole in him and all the air was leaking out. "Yeah. Look, Brian, I'm sorry."

Brian tries to follow the thought process and fails. He really isn't getting enough sleep lately and it's starting to become noticeable. "You are?"

Mikey nods and looks down at his hands. "Yeah. For outing you, but mostly for yelling at you. I just ... I reacted, I guess. I worked so fucking hard, you know? So did you and Gerard, and to see you throwing it away like that- "

Brian's jaw tightens. "I wasn't throwing anything away."

Mikey nods but he looks wrung out. It's never a good look on him. "Yeah, I know that now. But at the time, I mean, fuck. If you saw a syringe in an addict's hand, what would _you_ think? And if your answer isn't heroin, you're a fucking liar."

"You didn't let me explain," Brian points out. "You just-"

"Lost it?" Mikey sighs. He shrugs. "I was angry. I couldn't stop being angry yet, even when you explained everything, even when I knew I didn't have a reason to be. I treated you like that because I was still angry, but it wasn't because of the gender thing. I swear to fuck, Brian."

"Okay."

"Really?"

"No. You were a douchebag, but I forgive you anyway."

Mikey smiles at him, small and lopsided, but it feels right. Normal. Mikey reinflates like a balloon, and any hint of weird or awkward seems to evaporate from the air between them. "Thanks."

Brian smiles back. "You're welcome. That's not what I wanted to talk to you about, though."

Mikey blinks at him and moves as if to look over the tops of his glasses before he remembers that he doesn't wear them anymore. "It's not?"

"Do you know what's up with Gerard?"

Mikey shakes his head. "You have to be more specific than that. A lot more."

"He's being weird."

Mikey shakes his head. "Again, man, you have to be more specific."

"Okay, well, not like normal Gerard weird. I mean, he's just-" Brian can feel his ears getting hot because for some reason he can't just come out and say 'Your brother won't stop touching me' out loud. It just sounds too cracked out. "I just want to know if you know what's going on with him."

Mikey stares at him for a long moment, then laughs, smug and a little pitying. "Of course I do. I can't believe you don't."

"You're the least helpful person alive, you know that?" Brian growls, folding his arms over his chest. He's desperate enough that he's absolutely not above playing the guilt card. "Come on, you owe me."

Mikey sighs, but otherwise his expression remains the same. "He's just in Gerard-with-a-project mode. You know how he gets."

"I'm a new project?" Brian blurts before his brain can censor the stupid that comes frothing out of his mouth.

Mikey's smile widens a little. "No. You're an old project. He's just finally figured out how to finish it. You know how he gets when he has a breakthrough."

Single-minded, obsessive, brilliant all come to Brian's mind, but none of them should apply to this. It's just too far out there. "What the fuck, Mikeyway?"

Mikey gets up finally and snags the Sidekick out of Brian's limp hands. He flips it open, shaking his head. "You know, testosterone doesn't make _me_ stupid, so I know that's not your problem. Do you take moron pills in the morning with your vitamins?"

Brian punches Mikey in the arm. "Fuck you."

"Thanks, but no thanks," Mikey says with another lopsided half-grin. "I like girls."

Brian laughs and feels a knot that's been tangled in his stomach for ages come loose. "Unless they're Pete Wentz."

"Be fair," Mikey says, "He's more girl than most chicks I've slept with. Totally counts."

"You keep count?"

Mikey laughs, but doesn't look up from his Sidekick. The conversation's over and Brian still has no fucking idea what's going on with Gerard, but, fuck, he feels better. He feels almost back to normal. And that's more than something.

Because their conversation isn't terribly informative, Brian doesn't think to ask Mikey to keep it quiet. He recognizes the error of his ways when he sees Mikey and Gerard with their heads together on the walk back to the bus later. They keep shooting little glances at Brian, and he knows, he just _knows_ what they're talking about. He fixes his eyes on the pavement as he walks and refuses to look back at them.

Fucking _Ways_. They can't refuse to discuss their lives and self-consciously avoid each other, like normal siblings.

He usually hangs out with the guys as they wind down from a show. Watching Frank bounce off the walls is always fun until it gets exhausting and irritating, and then the fun part is watching Bob chase him down and sit on his head. Tonight, Brian just shakes his head when Ray asks him if he wants in on the popcorn he's microwaving. He heads back to his bunk, instead. He's been there long enough to get his pillow into perfect shape when someone shakes his curtain.

"Hey, Brian?" Gerard says. Brian freezes for a second, like he has any chance of pretending he's not there. He thinks maybe Mikey was right about those moron pills.

He takes a breath. "Yeah."

Gerard pulls the curtain aside and peeks in at him. He's got an upper bunk, so Gerard's face is really close when he says, "Can I come in?"

Usually, with these guys, a phrase like that is more an announcement of intent than a request for permission. Mikey will knock on the bathroom door and then barge right in, assuming that if it's not locked, he's welcome. Bob will ask for a bite of a sandwich and then just take the whole damned thing. Gerard's actually waiting for Brian's answer, though. He lifts his hand to his mouth and bites at his thumbnail while Brian makes up his mind.

After a long moment, Brian nods. He scoots back so that he's pressed against the wall. He expects Gerard to climb in and stretch out alongside him, the way Frank does when he decides he needs company, but Gerard scrambles in and curls himself into a little ball near Brian's feet. It's got to be hell on his back, but he just looks at Brian solemnly.

"What's up?" Brian asks, trying for casual.

Gerard picks at the hem of his jeans. He took his shoes off at some point before he got in here, and Brian can see that he's got a hole in his left sock. "I talked to Mikey a little bit ago."

"Yeah? Me, too," Brian tells him.

Gerard nods. "I know. That's why I thought …" He shrugs. "I thought I was being pretty straightforward, but if you're confused about what's going on, we should probably talk."

Brian thinks about saying, 'So talk,' but he remembers how annoying that shit was when Bob pulled it on him. He licks his lips and says, "So what's going on? Mikey said I was your project."

"Mikey's an asshole." Gerard sounds completely non-judgmental about it, like he accepts Mikey's assholishness as a normal state of being.

"So I'm not a project?" Brian presses his cheek a little more firmly into his pillow. It blocks his view, so he can only see Gerard with one eye.

"Not like that," Gerard says dismissively. "Not like- That makes it sound like I'm plotting to give you a makeover or _fix you_ or something."

"And that's not it?"

Gerard ducks his head even closer to his knees. "I like you the way you are."

Brian tries to stop the smile from spreading across his face, but he can't. "So what is it, then?"

"I like you. The way you are," Gerard says slowly. It's not the same sentence it was a second ago. The light's not the best, but Brian thinks Gerard might be blushing, and his toes are curling and uncurling against the mattress.

It suddenly feels like there's not enough air in the confines of the bunk for both of them. Brian opens his mouth, and then closes it again. Gerard lifts his head and grins at him, unaccountably amused. "You act like you've never gotten hit on before. I mean, even if you hadn't, you've seen enough romantic comedies to know how this is supposed to go."

"I don't watch romantic comedies," Brian protests inanely.

"Like fuck, you don't. Between the two of you, you and Frank practically keep Meg Ryan in botox, all by yourselves." This isn't the point at all. This is a stupid tangent, and Brian needs to know how to get off it and get back onto the subject of Gerard hitting on him. He must look a little desperate, because Gerard takes a deep breath and says, "So now I made my endearing but really fucking lame declaration, and you're supposed to tell me you wanted me all along. That's how it works."

Brian is silent for a minute, and the happiness slides off of Gerard's face. He twists his mouth into a fake, fake smile and says, "Or maybe it only works that way for Julia Roberts."

He shifts his weight like he's going to leave, and Brian can't let him. He twists forward enough to get his hand on Gerard. It lands on his ankle, and he hangs onto it, fingers gripping at the dirty cotton of his sock. "Hey, no. If you were Julia Roberts, I wouldn't have wanted you at all. She's got teeth like a horse."

Gerard blinks at him, and Brian realizes that maybe wasn't the reply he was hoping for. "But I have. Wanted you," he forces out.

Gerard smiles, and it's fucking blinding. "Yeah?" he says.

Brian nods. "Yeah." It's easier to confirm it than it was to say it the first time. He could probably keep on saying 'yeah' and grinning like an idiot for a couple of hours. Or days.

Or maybe not, because Gerard is shaking off Brian's hand and untwisting himself so that he's stretched out full length, pressed up against Brian. "Yeah," Gerard says again. This time he's not asking, but he keeps his eyes open as he tilts his head toward Brian, like he's waiting for permission all over again.

Fuck it. Brian closes the distance between them and kisses him.

Gerard makes a noise, like half a laugh and half a whimper. His mouth is warm and his lips are soft, and Brian always wondered if they would feel as crooked as they looked. They don't. They just fit against his, like he and Brian have been a matching set all this time.

If this were a romantic comedy, the bunk would be bigger, and would smell less like feet. Their clothes would magically disappear, and there would be less chance of bandmates knocking against the bunk and demanding to know what they're doing in there. But if this were a romantic comedy, one of them would probably have to be a girl, and Brian is really fucking grateful that they're not.

Brian will take this reality over Hollywood's fantasy any day.

He rolls as far on top of Gerard as he can, pressing him into the thin mattress. It feels so fucking good to have Gerard underneath him. Brian can't get enough of it. He buries his hands in Gerard's hair, angling his head to get deeper, to get closer. Maybe Gerard feels it, too, because he lifts one leg and wraps it around Brian's hips, pulling Brian in tight against him.

God, fuck, Gerard is hard against Brian's belly, and that's amazing. Brian tries to pull away far enough to get a hand between them, but Gerard clutches at his shoulders and keeps him close. "Gerard," he says, lifting his head. "Gee."

"Yes, that's me. Shut the fuck up." Gerard strains his neck to reach Brian's mouth again, and Brian gives up. Gives in and just lets himself get lost in the heat of the kiss and the surging grind of their bodies against one another.

They're a tangle. Winding legs and clinging hands and mingling breaths, and Brian has never felt this close to someone. Gerard is making stupid, helpless noises against his lips, and Brian wants them. Wants them all. He kisses Gerard, slick and demanding, swallowing every grunt and gasp.

He rolls his hips more firmly against Gerard's, and feels more than hears when he starts to groan. Gerard pulls his mouth free to pant for breath, and Brian bites at his throat. Not because he wants to mark him, but because he can't _not_ have his mouth on Gerard right now. Gerard arches his neck back, his throat stretching bare under Brian's lips, and then his whole body is arching. Bowing up off the bunk to go taut against Brian.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." Gerard's voice is wrecked, and it sends a shiver down Brian's spine. "Fuck, Brian." He lies still for just a moment, letting Brian move restlessly against him, and then he rolls them, shifting so that they're on their sides and Brian's back is to the wall.

His hand trails down Brian's chest and stomach until it reaches his waistband. "Can I?"

Brian sucks in a sharp breath. He closes his eyes and swallows. When he opens them, Gerard is watching him, eyes blown black. Brian nods, and Gerard gives him a sweet smile completely at odds with the way his hands spread greedily over Brian's hips and then hurry to undo his jeans. He pulls them open and then tugs. "Help me out here, man," he says, and Brian lifts his hips.

"I see how it is," Brian says roughly. He's going to make some joke, some sarcastic comment that will diffuse the joy and fear and sheer fucking heat of the moment, but it dies on his lips as Gerard draws his jeans and underwear down and slides his fingers reverently over Brian's bare skin.

Gerard stills his hands low on Brian's belly and takes a shuddering breath. "If there's something you're into or something you don't like, you need to let me know. I want this to be good." The 'for you' is unspoken , but Brian still hears it. And it's not like he doesn't already know that Gerard cares, that this isn't a quick, cramped fuck. But the fact that Gerard thinks he's worth the effort still hits him in the gut.

Brian reaches down and tangles his fingers through Gerard's. He pushes their linked hands lower, shuddering as their fingertips skate over his swollen flesh. He nudges Gerard's fingers until they're spread in a vee. "Like this," Brian says. His voice is thick and low, and he already sounds fucked out. He rolls his hips up so that he's thrusting into the slick, tight space their fingers make. "Just like this."

He looks at Gerard and can't look away. Gerard is breathing hard, his mouth open and wet, and his eyes are dazed. "Fuck, Brian."

Brian nods. 'Fuck' pretty much says it all.

Brian's hips jerk faster, and he presses Gerard's fingers harder against him. He wants to come. He can feel the orgasm, hovering just out of reach, and he yearns toward it with his whole body. He doesn't know what he looks like, but Gerard says, "Jesus Christ," and then he's kissing Brian. Messy kisses all over his face, like he can't stop long enough to plan where his lips are going to land. A kiss lands on Brian's mouth, and then on his temple, and then his nose, and Brian laughs. He's still laughing when his orgasm crashes over him, so that he can't tell if the quaking in his hands and legs is from coming or from giggling.

Gerard presses his forehead against Brian's, their fingers still wound together between Brian's legs. "Hey," he says. "Are you laughing at me?"

Brian nods, and it brushes their faces together. Gerard's hair is soft against his cheek. "Sorry."

"Nah." Gerard rolls away a tiny bit. He can't go much farther without falling out of the bunk. "Who wants to have sex with someone who can't laugh with you?"

That makes Brian pause. He hasn't been able to laugh with most of the people he's fucked, and he never really thought he was missing anything. Well, aside from the obvious.

Brian lets go of Gerard's hand and looks away as he pulls his jeans and underwear back up. "Are you okay with this?" he asks.

Gerard frowns at him. "Duh!" he says. "'Okay' is the fucking understatement of the century." He shakes his head. "I've been fucking _wooing_ you, Brian. Ray offered to make me a mix tape of love songs to leave on your pillow."

Brian's eyes go wide. "I was talking about this, actually," he says, gesturing at his body. "I'm not- I've seen the guys you fuck."

Gerard chews on his lower lip and looks up at the ceiling, like he's thinking about what he wants to say. "Before you told us … about you, I never thought about being with someone who was trans. But, Brian." He fixes his eyes on Brian's face. "I thought about being with _you_ all the fucking time."

It takes a moment before Brian can speak. He reaches out a hand and traces his fingers over Gerard's jaw. "I usually didn't let myself think about being with you."

"Well, that just shows that I'm smarter than you, doesn't it," Gerard says with a smirk.

Brian wants to take that. Wants to just take it and hold it and feel safe in being with Gerard. But he can't stop himself from asking, "And you don't mind my body being like this? You're not going to get over the novelty and wish for a guy with a cock?"

Gerard's face darkens. "Fuck you, man. Novelty." He glares. "If I really need to get fucked, we'll get you a strap on. Asshole."

Brian swallows. He pets at Gerard's head apologetically, stroking his fingers over Gerard's hair. "I'm not being insulting," he says. "I just need to be sure."

"You are being insulting," Gerard tells him. "And it's worse because you don't mean to. If you were trying to piss me off, it would be way easier to ignore your fucking stupidity." He lets Brian keep touching him, though. "Think of it this way. With you, I can have any cock I want. We'll just pick them out of a catalogue."

Brian shoves the rest of his doubts down, into the bottom of his mind. "Okay," he says. "Okay. What are we going to tell the guys?"

"Tell us that you're running away to Vegas to get married," Frank calls from outside the curtain. "And that you're making us godparents of all your million adopted babies."

"You're an atheist," Gerard yells back. He doesn't even look embarrassed. "You can't be a godparent of anything."

"Tell us you're going to stop having sex on the bus," Bob joins in. "'Cause I don't need to hear that again."

"Fuck you, Bryar," Brian shouts. Like he hasn't had to listen to Bob having sex before.

"No, I wasn't the one you were fucking. Try again." Brian can hear the whole bunch of them laughing. It's like one big, happy, voyeuristic family.

"They're going to make fun of us forever," Brian tells Gerard quietly.

"I'm okay with that," Gerard says. "I'm kind of into 'forever' right now." He laces their fingers together and closes his eyes. Brian watches him breathe and thinks that forever sounds pretty damned good.


End file.
